


Stain your hands with my blood

by terabient



Category: Soul Calibur
Genre: Dubious Consent, Flogging, M/M, Punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 21:37:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terabient/pseuds/terabient
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raphael, Siegfried, a late-night meeting, and a small matter of vengeance. (SCIII era)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stain your hands with my blood

Siegfried's sleep is restless. Raphael perches lightly on the inn windowsill and watches him, charts the course of his nightmares in the agitated flutter of closed eyelids.

It will not be long before he wakes, Raphael thinks, noting with detached curiosity Siegfried's increasingly shallow breathing, the sweat beading in the hollow of his throat. But Raphael is impatient, with no time to spare waiting for Siegfried to rouse himself from his dark dreams. He steps inside, steel-tipped boots ringing clear and loud as a bell through the night silence. Siegfried starts awake, his gaze settling on Raphael, eyes shadowed by dark dreams.

"Raphael," he says in a low, husky rumble thick with sleep. "What are you doing here?" He rises into a crouch, gaze flicking between Raphael and the entwined soul swords propped against the bedpost.

"I am not here for the weapon," Raphael says. Siegfried frowns; Raphael finds himself admiring the full pout of his lips, the way they soften the strong line of his jaw.

"Then, what have you come for?”

"Retribution."

A slow shudder wracks Siegfried's shoulders. "I cannot..." He pauses, tongue flicking out to wet lips gone dry. "I will not die before I've set right all that has gone wrong."

"I could argue that your life for mine is a way of doing so," Raphael replies, caressing the hilt of his rapier. Siegfried inches closer to his own sword. "But I'm not here to kill you." He lets Flambert, still sheathed, fall to the floor with a clatter. Something like disappointment darkens Siegfried's vivid eyes, and Raphael smiles.

"You see, Siegfried, vengeance takes many forms." Raphael unbuckles his belt, removes it with a quick, decisive snap of the wrist. The crack of leather shatters the night's quiet; Siegfried jolts at the sound, eyes wide, pale cheeks flushed an appealing red.

"And if I refuse?" Siegfried's voice is ragged, shallow, _hungry._ Raphael's smile widens as he loops one end of the belt around his hand.

"You won't."

\---

In the end, Raphael need not say a word; Siegfried rises from his bed on his own accord, the moonlight bright upon his shoulders. Raphael nods, once; Siegfried swallows hard before turning around to kneel beside the bed, baring his back to Raphael's critical gaze.

But Raphael does not punish that willing flesh - not yet. Methodically, he removes the finely wrought steel that embraces his upper body and the ruffled lace adorning his throat, setting both on the floor; only then does he approach Siegfried. His gaze wanders over the scarred flesh between shoulder and back with interest.

In the moonlight, Siegfried's long hair turns silver-gold; Raphael lifts the thick, heavy silk with one hand, slipping it over his shoulders and baring the nape of his neck. His fingers run over the curve of Siegfried's spine, the flesh warm under his chill touch. Siegfried shudders beneath his hands.

Raphael steps back, eying the smooth skin drawn taut over well-defined muscle, marred here and there by the mark of another's blade. Raphael grips his belt tighter at the sight, leather biting into his palm. Jealousy, unexpected and ugly, thickens his throat; he, and he alone, has the right to brand the unyielding steel of Siegfried's shoulders.

He begins without a word, the only warning the whistle of the belt whipping forward. His first blow landing across the web of scars near Siegfried's right shoulder, where human flesh had once erupted into a black, bony claw. The impact wrests no cry, no flinch, from Siegfried; only the whitening of his knuckles and the tensing of his neck indicate that he has felt the blow at all. Raphael expects no less. Inferior as the man is, he had survived the crushing oppression of Soul Edge for seven long years; it would take more than physical pain to break him. Raphael smiles in grim approval.

“We have a long night ahead of us, I see.”

A pity he cannot see Siegfried's face, cannot discern if the slight shiver is from fear or delight.

\---

The first cry falls from his lips when Raphael's strikes begin to fall across already abused, reddened flesh Siegfried sucks in a breath, expels it in a low groan so soft Raphael nearly misses it. Unbidden, Raphael's heart beats faster, and his next strike falls wild and weak. Raphael pauses to collect himself; to think a mere whimper might affect him so! (But oh, to draw that sweet unwilling cry from him again, to hear it louder, _longer-_ ) He tightens the belt around his hand and strikes again, with all the force and anger he has carried from beyond death.

Siegfried's cry is anything but controlled now, the loud, pained snarl shattering the night silence. The bright red welt glistens in the moonlight, the salt-iron scent of blood tainting the small room. Raphael's breath catches; the sudden hunger that courses through him nearly destroys his senses and reason. He strokes the bleeding wound, coating his fingers with warm blood.

The gentle touch makes Siegfried shudder far more than any of the earlier strikes. Raphael brings his blood-slick hand to his mouth, lapping at his fingertips delicately to savor the rich taste.

“Absolutely delightful,” he says. Siegfried glances backwards, green eyes flashing dark with disgust. Raphael stares back, lips stained with Siegfried's own blood curving into a cruel, inviting smile.

“I wonder,” he continues, never dropping Siegfried's gaze, “what might happen to you, if I sucked you dry to slake my thirst?”

Siegfried's head snaps back, eyes fierce and bright. “No,” he hisses. His fingers curl over the bedframe, his knuckles turning white. “I won't - I'll never serve that demon blade again.”

Raphael kneels behind Siegfried to whisper in his ear. “Of course you wouldn't - not when there are others to take your place.”

The challenge in Siegfried's eyes dies. “That was never my intention.”

Raphael takes the belt and drapes it loosely around Siegfried's neck. “Such a brave, noble soul,” he murmurs, harsh and mocking, “willing to endure any punishment - unless you stand to lose...”

He expects protests, unconvincing apologies, but only silence greets him. Siegfried's head hangs low, eyes shadowed by thick lashes and lips trembling. Shame? Guilt? Poor child, his fragile morality so easily shattered and manipulated; no wonder Soul Edge had subdued him for so long. Raphael jerks at the belt sharply, drawing a desperate gasp from Siegfried as the makeshift collar cuts off his airflow.

“I can be merciful,” Raphael breathes against Siegfried's throat. His veins stand out starkly against his skin, and Raphael cannot help but indulge - his fangs scrape across the salt-slick flesh and draw more hot, bitter blood. “If you refuse to give your life and your service, then perhaps you have something else in mind?” He pulls the belt tighter, bruising Siegfried's neck and forcing his head back painfully. The young man's mouth opens, gasping helplessly for air. Raphael's free hand lifts to trace the supple, trembling lips, a deep, dreadful hunger rising within him. He loosens the belt a notch to allow Siegfried to speak.

He could make this easier, of course; could spell out his demands, the terms necessary for penance, and knows Siegfried would accept without complaint. But Raphael wants Siegfried to take the first step, to give voice to his unspoken desires.

The chains of submission are stronger when locked by one's own hands.

Raphael eases his arms around Siegfried's abused body, and waits.

It takes Siegfried some time to recover enough to speak. “I...I don't know what you want from me.”

“Truly?” Raphael lowers his head until his lips are only inches from Siegfried's. “I think you do.”

The night is dark and silent, broken only by Siegfried's labored breathing. For long moments, neither man moves, until Siegfried sighs and raises his lips to close the distance between them.

“Good boy,” Raphael whispers against the warm, open mouth against his own.

Siegfried is a strange mix of sullen desire and shameful enthusiasm; the push that sends Raphael sprawling on the bed is strong and assured, but when he kneels at Raphael's feet the move is slow, almost shy. His hands shake as he spreads Raphael's firm thighs apart.

“You're cold,” Siegfried says, startled. His palms on Raphael's chill flesh are a welcome warmth; Raphael's breathing goes shallow in anticipation.

“One of Soul Edge's many...gifts,” Raphael says with a bitter smile. His hands wind through Siegfried's thick blond hair and pull him closer. “You have a great deal of experience with such generosity, don't you?”

Siegfried is silent, but the faint blush that splashes across his cheeks is answer enough. Raphael considers goading him further- until Siegfried lowers his head and Raphael's cock is engulfed in wet, constricting heat.

Siegfried is careless with his teeth and hesitant with his tongue, but the mere sight of that gold-crowned head settled between his thighs is enough to make him swell to full hardness. Raphael caresses the nape of Siegfried's neck, urging him further down his aching shaft. Siegfried complies, a low growl his only protest.

Raphael bites his lip sharply to keep from crying out; Siegfried lacks experience, but the sheer heat and softness of his mouth, the fullness of his lips, the quiet moans Raphael feels vibrating against his cock - the performance is more than satisfying. Most of all, Siegfried is attentive; the strokes of his tongue are slow and tentative at first, but grow bolder and more assured as Raphael's breath catches and muscles tense. One hand slips between Raphael's legs to grasp what he can't take in his mouth. His grip is firm, painfully so, his palms calloused and rough against the sensitive organ; but even so it is enough to bring Raphael to the brink of climax.

Raphael opens his eyes. He wants, _needs_ to see this beautiful, proud man as he willingly submits to delicious humiliation. The sight makes him shudder: Siegfried's head buried in his lap, his back marred by raw, red wounds - wounds that _his_ hand had dealt-

The thought pushes Raphael over the edge, and he comes, one hand pressed against his mouth to muffle the cry that escapes him. Siegfried jerks back in surprise, but Raphael pushes him down, keeping him in place.

It takes Raphael a few moments to recover, taking deep, slow breaths to calm himself and wallow in the rare warmth filling him. Siegfried pulls away, red-faced, lips slick and glistening. Raphael grabs him by the chin, finds the smooth skin sticky and damp. He forces Siegfried to look up.

“Swallow,” Raphael commands.

The glare Siegfried gives him is ferocious, defiant; Raphael wonders, for the first time, if Siegfried will refuse. But the worry is short-lived. Siegfried swallows, grimacing.

“Very good.” Raphael tilts his head and kisses Siegfried roughly, fangs sinking into tender lips. Siegfried whimpers, the sound so unexpected that Raphael stops and pulls away.

“Enough,” Siegfried whispers. _“Please.”_

Raphael strokes Siegfried's torn lips with his thumb, the gesture almost gentle, and Siegfried relaxes against him. Raphael wraps his free arm around Siegfried's waist and pulls him close, until his body is flush against Raphael's own.

“We're not finished,” Raphael says, voice poison-sweet. He shifts slightly, so that Siegfried straddles him, legs wrapped around his waist and half-hard cock pressed against his stomach. Siegfried buries his face in Raphael's shoulder and moans, whispers for mercy even as he presses harder against Raphael.

“Did you really think I would be satisfied so easily?” Raphael drags his hands down Siegfried's back, drawing out a sob that sounds more eager than pained.

“I've just begun to show you the depths of my hate.”

\---

The moon has set by the time they finish. Raphael glances at Siegfried, naked and exhausted and broken beside him. Dark bruises mar his thighs and narrow waist, the wounds scored deep into his back an angry red. It will take weeks for them to heal.

And Siegfried had accepted it all, yielding to Raphael willingly, eagerly. That thought - the knowledge that he held such sway over the man, when he had resisted all others - is more intoxicating than any physical act.

But sweet as this triumph is, Raphael does not have the luxury to revel in it. The night will end soon, and with it, his freedom. Casting one last, lingering glance at his exhausted companion, Raphael rises from the bed and dresses, sets his sword and scabbard at his hip. The clatter of steel momentarily breaks the room's silence. From the bed comes the rustle of blankets; the sound must have roused Siegfried from his sleep.

“You're leaving,” Siegfried says.

Raphael does not bother to look back as he answers. “Of course. Are you disappointed?” His voice drips with contempt.

“Perhaps.”

The answer surprises him. He looks back, into those eerily bright eyes that the darkness of the night and the shadows of long lashes only partially dim. A faint smile twists Siegfried's lips, knife-sharp and dangerous. Raphael is forcibly reminded that Siegfried spent years with Soul Edge sleeping in his heart; he may speak of redemption now, but once he had embraced the demon blade's vicious dominance.

The thought ought to frighten him. Instead, Raphael strides to Siegfried's side and traces the line of his jaw. Siegfried opens his mouth to speak, but Raphael raises a finger to his lips, silencing him.

“Don't worry, sweet knight,” Raphael says. “There's so much more I have to give you.”

A whisper-soft kiss against his fingers. “I'll be waiting.”

In the moonless night, Raphael smiles.


End file.
